UC-NRLF 


ati 


P   S 

2134 

J845 

C6 

1877 

MAIN 


GIFT  OF 
THOMAS   Rtr  ->  BACON 

'-••'•  -ilAL   LIBRARY 


COMFORT 


BY   K.   H.  J. 


NEW   YORK: 
ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY, 

900   BROADWAY,    COR.    2Oth    ST. 


COPYRIGHT,    1877,    BY 

ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY. 


EDWARD  0.  JENKINS'  PRINT,  ROBERT  RUTTER,  BINDER, 

NEW  YORK. 


MAW 


To  the  toilers  and  sufferers,  on  the  way  to 
the  "better  country,"  may  these  words  come 
with  something  of  help  and  healing. 


284703. 


CONTENTS 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT, 7 

PAPA'S  LITTLE  GIRL, n 

LIFE — A  PROBLEM, 13 

"  THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING  IN  His  BEAUTY,".  14 

THE  HEAVENLY  SECRET, 17 

GOD'S  BEST, 21 

Two  CITIES, 26 

His  NAME,          ' 29 

ASLEEP, 34 

IN  VISION, 36 

Oar  OF  THE  SHADOW, 40 

"FAULTLESS," 43 

IN  THE  NIGHT, 47 

A  MEMORY, 49 


ALONE, 


55 

PARTING, 57 

SUNSET, 60 

AT  THE  RIVER, 64 

AND  THERE  WAS  LIGHT, 67 

DE  PROFUNDIS, 69 

A  CHRISTMAS  MEMORY, 73 

REWARD, 78 

(v) 


vi  CONTENTS. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

EriTHALAMIUM, 85 

FLOWER-WALLS, 89 

MY  PICTURE, 91 

IN   THE   NAME   OF   OUR   GOD    WE  WILL  SET  UP    OUR 

BANNERS, 93 

HYMN, 95 

ONLY  FOR  ONE, 97 

MAYING, I0° 


COMFORT. 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT. 

~  WAS  sitting  alone  towards  the  twilight, 
-*-     With  spirit  troubled  and  vexed, 
With  thoughts  that  were  morbid  and  gloomy, 

And  faith  that  was  sadly  perplexed. 

Some  homely  work  I  was  doing 
For  the  child  of  my  love  and  care, 

Some  stitches  half  wearily  setting 
In  the  endless  need  of  repair. 

But  my  thoughts  were  about  the  "  building," 

The  work  some  day  to  be  tried  ; 
And  that  only  the  gold  and  the  silver, 

And  the  precious  stones,  should  abide. 

And  remembering  my  own  poor  efforts, 

The  wretched  work  I  had  done, 
And,  even  when  trying  most  truly, 

The  meagre  success  I  had  won  : 

(7) 


8       THE  VOICE  7Ar  THE  TWILIGHT. 

"  It  is  nothing  but  '  wood,  hay  and  stubble,'  " 

I  said  ;  "  it  will  all  be  burned — 
This  useless  fruit  of  the  talents 

One  day  to  be  returned." 

"  And  I  have  so  longed  to  serve  Him, 
And  sometimes  I  know  I  have  tried  ; 

But  I'm  sure  when  He  sees  such  building, 
He  will  never  let  it  abide." 

Just  then,  as  I  turned  the  garment, 
That  no  rent  should  be  left  behind, 

My  eye  caught  an  odd  little  bungle 

Of  mending  and  patch-work  combined. 

My  heart  grew  suddenly  tender, 

And  something  blinded  my  eyes, 
With  one  of  those  sweet  intuitions 

That  sometimes  make  us  so  wise. 

Dear  child  !     She  wanted  to  help  me, 
I  knew  'twas  the  best  she  could  do  ; 

But  oh,  what  a  botch  she  had  made  it — 
The  gray  mismatching  the  blue  ! 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT. 

And  yet — can  you  understand  it  ? — 
With  a  tender  smile  and  a  tear, 

And  a  half-compassionate  yearning, 
I  felt  she  had  grown  more  dear. 

Then  a  sweet  voice  broke  the  silence, 
And  the  clear  Lord  said  to  me, 

"  Art  thou  tenderer  for  the  little  child 
Than  I  am  tender  for  thee  ?  " 

Then  straightway  I  knew  His  meaning, 
So  full  of  compassion  and  love, 

And  my  faith  came  back  to  its  Refuge 
Like  the  glad  returning  dove. 

For  I  thought,  when  the  Master-Builder 
Comes  down  His  temple  to  view, 

To  see  what  rents  must  be  mended 
And  what  must  be  builcled  anew  : 

Perhaps  as  He  looks  o'er  the  building 
He  will  bring  my  work  to  the  light, 

And  seeing  the  marring  and  bungling, 
And  how  far  it  all  is  from  right, 


10     THE  VOICE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT. 

He  will  feel  as  I  felt  for  my  darling, 
And  will  say,  as  I  said  for  her, 

"  Dear  child  !     She  wanted  to  help  me, 
And  love  for  me  was  the  spur. 

"  And,  for  the  true  love  that  is  in  it, 
The  work  shall  seem  perfect  as  mine, 

And  because  it  was  willing  service, 
I  will  crown  it  with  plaudit  divine." 

And  there  in  the  deepening  twilight 
I  seemed  to  be  clasping  a  hand, 

And  to  feel  a  great  love  constraining  me, 
Stronger  than  any  command. 

Then  I  knew  by  the  thrill  of  sweetness 
'Twas  the  hand  of  the  Blessed  One, 

That  will  tenderly  guide  and  hold  me 
Till  all  the  labor  is  done. 

So  my  thoughts  are  nevermore  gloomy, 

My  faith  no  longer  is  dim, 
But  my  heart  is  strong  and  restful, 

And  mine  eyes  are  unto  Him. 


"PAPA'S  LITTLE  GIRL." 

A     CHILD  all  motion,  fire,  and  grace, 
-*•-*-«    From  fairy  foot  to  floating  curl, 
With  winsome  smile,  and  sunniest  face, 
Was  "  Papa's  little  girl." 

All  summer,  where  the  glowing  flowers 

Their  dainty  banners  wide  unfurl, 
With  laugh  and  song,  through  joyous  hours, 
Went  "Papa's  little  girl." 

But  when  the  snow  lay  deep  and  cold, 
And  all  the  trees  were  frosted  pearl, 
Far  out  toward  sunset's  land  of  gold, 

Went  "  Papa's  little  girl." 

Alas !  the  few  bright,  fleeting  days, 

Ere  awful  darkness  wrapped  the  world, 
And  Azrael,  shadowy  angel,  came 

For  "  Papa's  little  girl" 


I2  "PAPA'S  LITTLE  GIRL." 

But  even  when  his  icy  breath 

Touched  lip,  and  cheek  and  sunny  curl, 
The  sweet,  pathetic  voice  si  ill  said, 
"  I'm  Papa's  little  girl." 

A  fearful  hush,  a  cold  despair, 

Fell  through  the  world's  gay  restless  whirl ; 
It  seemed  the  very  birds  and  flowers 

Missed  "  Papa's  little  girl." 

And  though  she  walk  the  golden  streets, 

And  stand  within  the  gates  of  pearl, 
Oh,  will  not  God  remember,  she 

Was  "  Papas  little  girl  ?  " 

Aye,  when  His  perfect  heavenly  peace 

Shall  follow  all  the  earthly  whirl, 
Faith  whispers  glad,  she  will  again 
Be  "  Papa's  little  girl." 


LIFE— A  PROBLEM. 

A  LITTLE  smiling,  mingled  oft  with  tears, 
A  little  hoping,  linked  with  many  fears, 
A  little  trusting,  chased  by  doubt  and  dread, 
A  little  light,  unto  much  darkness  wed — 
This  call  we  Life — to  breathe,  to  love,  to  die ! 
Who  shall  for  us  unfold  the  great,  sad  mystery? 

Heaven's  radiance    makes   rainbows  through 

the  tears, 
Humility's  sweet  flower  upspringeth  from  the 

fears, 
The  holy  shield  of  Faith  tempers  in  fires  of 

grief, 
The  seed  in  weeping  sown,  returns  a  golden 

sheaf — 
O  glorious  Life  in  Death !  no  more,  no  more 

to  die  ! 
One  hath    dissolved    for  us    the   deep,    sweet 

mystery  ! 

d3) 


"THINE  EYES  SHALL  SEE  THE  KING 
IN   HIS   BEAUTY." 

O  SWEET,  prophetic  words  !   still  ringing 
clear, 

Through  all  the  centuries  from  that  elder  year, 
Wherever  waiting  hearts  are  hushed  to  hear  ! 


Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  !     O  wondrous 

sight  ! 

Thy  weary  eyes,  astrain  through  all  the  night, 
Watching    for.  faintest    gleam    of    longed-for 

light ! 

Thy  sad  eyes,  memory-touched  with  "all  re 
gret  ; " 

Thy  dim  eyes,  aching  still  with  "  life's  small 
fret," 

Seeing  as  through  a  glass,  most  darkly  yet ! 


"  THE  KING  IN  HIS  BE  A  UTY."        T  5 

Thy  blind  eyes,  seeing  even  not  at  all, 
Yet  opening  quickly  at  the  Master's  call ; 
Glad,  eager  eyes,  from  which  all  weights  shall 
fall. 

O  wondrous  hour  of  vision  !  Long  ago 
Hath  rapt  Isaiah  come  thy  joy  to  know  ; 
That  heavenly  beauty  which  he  strove  to  show. 

Archangels  veil  their  faces,  while  they  sing, 
Before  the  awful  splendor  of  their  King, 
Afraid  to  sweep  such  height  with  ev'n  angelic 
wing. 

They  long  to  know  that  mystery  of  grace, 
Whereby  the  ransomed  see  Him  face  to  face, 
Nor  fall,  nor/^ar  to  fall,  from  that  high  place. 

They  know  not,  even  they,  that  tenderest  tie, 
By  which  He  brings  His  chosen  ones  so  nigh — 
His  cross,  His  blood,  and  Calvary's  bitter  cry. 

Oh,  saddest,  sweetest  bond  !     And  can  it  be 
That  through  His  sorrow,  joy  shall  come  to 

mef 
That  thus  His  glorious  beauty  I  shall  see  ? 


!  6        "  THE  KING  IN  HIS  BE  A  UT  Y. " 

Oh,  Joy,  too  deep  for  aught  but  happy  tears  ! 
Oh,  Faith,  that   climbs   a   height   beyond   all 

fears  ? 
Oh,  Hope,  that  crowns  and  gladdens  all  my 

years ! 

My  heart  repeats  the  promise  o'er  and  o'er, 
Though  'tis  an  "  old,  old  story  "  heard  before, 
Yet  with  each  dear  repeating  loved  the  more. 

O  eyes,  for  which  such  vision  is  in  store, 
Keep  ye  to  all  things  pure,  forevermore, 
Till  ye  shall  close  beside  Death's  shadowed 
door. 

.Be  lighted  from  within,  by  unseen  Guest, 
Send  out  warm  rays  of  love  to  all  distrest, 
And  lure  them  by  your  shining  into  rest. 

So,  in  His  beauty,  shall  ye  see  the  King, 
And  to  His  eyes'  sweet  answer  steadfast  cling, 
Nor   fade,   nor  droop,    o'ershadowed  by   His 
wing. 


THE  HEAVENLY  SECRET. 

I  PONDER  oft  the  wondrous  things, 
On  Patmos'  isle  in  vision  shown — 
The  trumpet  voice,  the  seven  stars, 

The  lamps  of  fire  before  the  throne  ; 
The  book  which  Judah's  Lion  loosed, 

With  awful  secrets,  seal  by  seal, 
The  golden  vials  full  of  wrath, 
The  seven  thunders'  fearful  peal : 

With  here  and  there  a  triumph  note,— 

The  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb, 
The  multitude  before  the  throne, 

With  blood-washed    robe   and   crown    and 

palm  ; 
And  ending  all,  the  City  fair, 

Spread  out  like  sunlight  far  and  wide, 
With  "  Whosoever  will,  may  come," 

For  last  sweet  words  sent  down  the  tide. 
(17) 


1 8  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  SE  CRE  T. 

But  ever,  'mid  these  mysteries, 

Sublime,  prophetic,  tender,  grand, 
One  precicus  promise  fills  my  heart, 

And  binds  the  book  with  golden  band  ; 
"  To  him  that  overcometh  "—this 

The  sweep  the  benediction  takes — 
If  Sardis,  Smyrna,  Pergamos, 

Your  church,  or  mine,  no  difference  makes. 

One  sole  condition  binds  the  gift, 

Though  struggle  sore  behind  it  lie ; 
A  faith,'  a  life  that  overcomes — 

A  warfare  unto  victory. 
And-  then,  reward  !     A  pure  white  stone, 

And  in  the  stone,  a  secret  name, — 
A  strange  new  name,  and  no  two  stones 

Shall  bear  inscription  quite  the  same. 

For  surely — thus  my  musing  runs — 
Since  'tis  no  name  already  known, 

It  cannot  be  some  name.of  Christ, 
Both  loved  and  worn  by  all  His  own. 

For  thus  the  sacred  record  reads, 
"  No  man  may  know  it,  saving  he 


THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  SE  CRE  T.         1 9 

Who  shall  receive  it," — his  alone 
This  new  and  blessed  name  shall  be. 

This  is  the  thought  that  thrills  me  through, 

We  have  a  secret — God  and  I ! 
He  keeps  it  now,  but  unto  me 

He  will  reveal  it  by  and  by. 
And  while  I  wait,  my  heart  still  holds 

Some  fancy  beautiful  and  fair 
Of  what  that  glad  surprise  will  be, 

When  He  His  thought  with  me  shall  share. 

Perhaps  some  precious  name  by  which 

He  knows  me  in  His    heart  of  love, 
Because  of  special  service  given, 

Or  special  grace  I've  learned  to  prove  ; 
As  wrestling  Jacob  after  prayer 

Had  seal  of  victory  on  him  set, 
In  that  new  name  which  crowned  his  seed, 

And  clings  to  all  God's  people  yet. 

And  Mary  with  her  broken  box 

Of  fragrance  for  the  burial-day — 
I  wonder  in  what  heavenly  name, 

Christ  keeps  that  memory  hid  away  ? 


2o  THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  SECRE  T. 

Or  that  poor  lowly  child  of  His, 

Who  of  her  want  gave  all  she  had— 

I  wonder  what  sweet  word  up  there 
Translates  that  deed,  to  make  her  glad  ? 

Or  it  may  be  the  precious  stone, 

Like  rich  intaglio,  given  to  each, 
Of  Christ  shall  some  impression  hold, 

Expressing  more  than  any  speech  ; 
How  in  some  great  emergent  hour, 

When  heart  and  flesh  were  failing  fast, 
He  showed  us  such  or  such  a  face, 

Till  all  the  fear  was  overpast. 

Or  once  in  some  communion  hour 

We  went  with  Him  up  Tabor's  steep, 
And  that  transfigured  Face,  for  us 

Forevermore  the  stone  will  keep. 
And  thus  I  muse  :  I  know  not  what 

The  secret  is— yet  still  the  same, 
His  thought  of  me,  or  mine  of  Him, 

Will  sweeter  be  in  that  new  name  ! 


GOD'S    BEST. 

T  PROMISED  to  tell  all  their  fortunes, 
-*-     As  they  gathered  around  me  in  glee — 
My  half-dozen,  fun-loving  maidens, 
Grouped  prettily  under  the  tree. 

"  Oh,  will  you,  you  clearest  old  Gipsey  ?  " 
The  children  all  cried  in  a  breath  ; 

"  Do  give  us  all  something  so  splendid  : 
Long  life,  and — translation,  not  death." 

"Tell  Helen's  the  last,"  said  dear  Lily, 
"  For  the  best,  you  know,  never  comes  first." 

"Tell  mine,  then,  at  once,"  rippled  Minnie, 
"  And  let  us  have  done  with  the  worst ! 

"  Give  Josie  a  Count  or  a  Baron, 

Give  Emma  a  castle  in  Spain  ; 
And  to  Lily,  so  thoughtful  for  others, 
Give  gold  like  a  torrent  of  rain. 


22  GOD'S  BEST. 

"  Give  May  a  strange  lamp  like  Aladdin's, 

And  to  Helen — why,  give  what  you  will ; 
For  with  her,  'tis  according  to  proverb — 
'  All's  grist  that  comes  to  her  mill.'  " 

"  I  don't  want  a  Baron,"  quoth  Josie, 
"  An  artist  is  more  to  my  mind." 

"And  a  castle  in  Spain,"  pouted  Emma, 
"  Is  something  that  no  one  can  find." 

"And  if /had  the  gold,"  echoed  Lily, 
"  I  might  be  a  miser,  you  know  ;  " 

"  While  Aladdin's  old  lamp,"  chimed  the  May- 
bell, 
"Might  land  me  in  far  Jericho." 

"And  always  to  be  at  my  grinding, 

Though  the  grist  were  all  of  the  best, 
Is  something  not  quite  to  my  fancy," 
Said  Helen,  "  if  truth  were  confessed." 

"  See  now,"  said  gay  Minnie,  "  this  wonder — 

People  never  will  like  what  they  get ; 
And  they  can  never  get  what  they  like  either, 
And  so  they  just  worry  and  fret." 


GOD'S  BEST. 


23 


A  peal  of  the  merriest  laughter 
At  this  rang  out  through  the  trees, 

And  echoing  down  through  the  wood's  green 

aisle, 
Was  borne  away  on  the  breeze. 

I  gazed  at  the  glowing  young  faces, 
In  a  silence  half  born  of  my  fears, 

As  I  wondered  what  each  would  inherit 
In  the  veiled  and  far-away  years. 

Then  giving  the  word  to  my  wishes, 
That  beautiful  morning  in  June 

I  set  all  their  life's  happy  poem 
To  a  perfect  and  rhythmical  tune. 

Some  joy  that  a  mortal  might  covet 

Lay  fair  in  the  future  of  each  ; 
While   some   magic   should   give   them  the 
wisdom 

That  experience  only  can  teach. 

But  my  very  own  darling  was  Helen, 

And  while  I  asked  gifts  for  the  rest, 
My  heart  whispered  earnestly  always, 
"  Dear  Father,  give  her  of  Thy  best." 


24  GOD'S  BEST. 

No  one  of  earth's  glorious  prizes, 
But  that,  did  she  choose  to  possess, 

Lay  clear  in  the  range  of  my  vision, 
Through  all  the  struggle  and  stress. 

The  artist's  ideals  of  beauty, 

The  poet's  possession  of  song, 
The  dreams  of  the  sculptor  embodied, 

Or  the  joys  that  to  science  belong. 

Whatever  of  grace  or  of  glory 
Her  effort  might  strive  to  attain, 

I  fondly  and  foolishly  fancied 

The  struggle  could  not  be  in  vain. 

And  now  as  I  noted  the  shadows 
That  played  over  each  eager  face, 

I  saw  that  the  broad  full  sunlight 
Fell  over  my  darling's  place. 

Then  I  smiled  in  my  heart  when  I  saw  it, 
And  turning  aside  from  the  rest, 

I  said,  "  Thus,  dear  Lord,  would  I  have  it — 
So  ever  give  her  Thy  best." 


GOD'S  BEST.  25 

I  knew  not  what  I  was  asking-, 

Or  I  surely,  surely  had  known 
That  no  life  has  only  broad  sunlight, 

Save  life  within  sight  of  God's  throne. 

But  the   sweet   clay  passed,  and  the  night 
came, 

When  He  put  my  love  to  the  test ; 
And  somewhere  up  there  'mid  the  lilies, 

She  lies  like  a  bud  on  His  breast. 

And  what,"  do  you  ask,  "  of  the  others- 
Lily,  and  May,  and  the  rest  ?  " 

Ah,  well,  they  all  have  their  treasures, 
But  none,  like  my  Helen,  God's  best ! 


TWO    CITIES. 

ONE  shines  from  out  the  sacred  page, 
Aglow  with  solemn  splendor, 
Illumed  with  every  radiant  tint 

That  art  divine  can  render. 
Built  far  upon  the  dazzling  heights 

No  foot  may  scale  unheeding, 

It  flames  its  glory  down  the  years, 

Nor  sun  nor  temple  needing. 

Kings  bring  their  triumph  into  it, 

And  nations  saved,  their  glory, 
While  thousand  times  ten  thousand  sing 

Its  glad  and  wondrous  story. 
They  sing  a  joyous  marriage-song, 

For  lo  !  this  city  golden 
Is  like  a  bride  with  jewels  girt, 

With  kingly  love  enfolden. 

The  King  of  kings  her  brow  doth  crown 
With  love's  most  royal  crowning ; 
(26) 


TWO  CITIES. 

His  gracious  welcome  to  the  feast 
The  seraphs'  praises  drowning. 

O  far  bright  city  of  my  dream  ! 
In  all  thy  marriage  splendor, 

With  passion  yearns  my  longing  heart 
Thy  glowing  gates  to  enter. 

How  shall  I  win  the  welcome  sweet  ? 

How  gain  the  wedding  whiteness  ? 
O  guarded  gates,  where  is  the  key 

Unlocking  all  your  brightness  ? 
'  Peace,  pleading  heart !  "  an  angel  saith  ; 

Wait  not  at  yon  far  portal — 
This  city  is  but  type  of  that 

Which  is  to  be  immortal. 

Behold  upon  the  land  and  sea, 

In  every  tribe  and  nation, 
Glad,  busy  hands  are  fashioning 

The  stones  for  its  foundation. 
One  buildeth  here,  another  there, 

Each  bringeth  precious  treasure  ; 
Some  bear  the  load,  some  place  the  stones, 

Each  working  in  his  measure. 


8  TWO  CITIES. 

Thus  is  the  City  walled  about 

With  wall  of  clearest  jasper, 
'While  precious  jewels,  set  in  gold, 

Like  crowns  of  light  enclasp  her. 
This  is  the  pure  and  perfect  Bride 

The  King  most  fitly  seeketh — 
A  Church  all  glorious  within, 

Whose  heart  her  love  bespeaketh. 

And  this  the  King's  most  gracious  will : 

All  to  the  feast  are  bidden 
Who  toward  this  glory  bear  a  part, 

However  small  or  hidden. 
Go,  asking  heart,  take  then  thy  place, 

And  wait  the  heavenly  morning ; 
Bring  gift  of  silver  or  of  gold, 

This  glorious  Bride  adorning. 

Or  bring  but  myrrh  or  precious  spice, 

Or  fringe  upon  her  border, 
Or  even  one  bright  glowing  thread, 

Her  raiment  to  embroider. 
So  shalt  thou  hear  the  Bridegroom's  call, 

So  in  His  thought  be  holden, 
When  He  His  Church  shall  wed— the  true 
"Jerusalem  the  Golden  !  " 


HIS    NAME. 

name  thee  not ! "     How  many 
years  have  died 
Since  first  Bettina  wrote  the  glowing  words 
For  Goethe's  careless,  unresponsive  heart. 
How  long  ago  they  dropped  into  the  soil 
Of  my  own  childish,  scarcely  wakened  thought. 
The  book — "Bettina's  Letters" — passed  and 

perished 

Out  of  sight  and  mind,  and  left  but  this 
One  fairest  seed,  within  its  living  cell 
To  grow  up  pulse  by  pulse,  each  graver  year, 
From  good  to  better  use,  from  height  to  height. 

First,  to  the  dearest  friend  my  happy  days 
Of  school-life  knew,  I  said  with  fervent  voice, 
"  'Names  name  thee  not,'  nor  tell  of  all  thou 

art 
To  me."    Strange  name  she  bore,  which  suited 

well 
The  subtle  charm  she  wove  about  my  heart. 


30  HIS  NAME. 

Named  Amuletta,  like  an  amulet,  indeed, 

She  hung  her  love,  her  very  self,  about 

My  love  and   life.    And  school-girl-wise,  we 

had 
Pet  names,  which  sought  the  depths  and  heights 

for  such 

Sweet  word  as  gave  our  love  expression  meet ; 
Yet  oft,  when  all  was  done,  I  looked  into 
The  eyes  of  Heaven's  own  blue,  which,  years 

agone, 
Were  closed  on  earthr  and  said,  "  Names  name 

thee  not." 

But  tides  of  time  ebbed  on  and  flowed  again, 
And  school-days  passed,  and  Amuletta  went 
Away  to  Heaven,  and  came  a  day  when  once 
Again,  1  looked  with  stronger,  higher  love, 
In  eyes  whose  sweetest  light  shone  but  for  me, 
And  said — with  dearest  names  thrown  in  be 
tween — 
"  '  Names  name  thee  not,'  nor  tell  of  all  thou 

art 

To  me."     And  this  seemed  love's  last,  perfect 
word. 


HIS  NAME.  31 

So  rose  and  fell  the  year's  swift  stream  again, 

And  as  it  ran,  the  perfect  words  revealed 

Perpetually,  a  new  and  higher  thought ; 

Each  year  they  grew  in  sacredness  and  depth, 

As  love,  in  highest  and  divinest  mould, 

Took  firmer,  deeper  place  within  my  soul, 

Until  at  last,  I  said  them  soft  and  low, 

In  reverent  hush,  in  "  silent  chapel  of 

My  heart " — I  said  them  under  breath,  and  in 

My  prayers,  to  One  alone,  and  evermore 

I   keep   them   close  and  pure   and  holy  unto 

Him. 
Names  name  Him  not  to  me.     No  name  can 

reach        • 
The  height  and  depth,  the  length  and  breadth, 

of  that 

Most  wondrous  Love,  unspeakable,  that  lives 
In  Him,  the  Father's  perfect  Word  to  man. 

Yet  hath  He  many  names,  most  tender  and 
Most  sweet,  His  fingers  dropped,  like  flowers, 

down 

The  path  of  Holy  Writ,  with  fragrant  breath 
Pervading  all  the  Church's  heart  and  life. 


32  HIS  NAVF.. 

Soft  comfort-names,  that  come  and  go,  through 

clouds 

Of  weariness  and  gloom — the  Shepherd  of 
His  sheep,  our  Burden-bearer,  and  our  Rest. 

Low  sorrow-names,  that  softly  wander  in 
And  out  through  griefs  too  deep  to  speak — the 

Man 

Of  Sorrows,  One  with  grief  acquainted  well, 
Our  Presence- Angel,  Refuge,  Saviour,  Strength. 

Grand  glory-names,  that  roll  like  loftiest  strain 
Of  song,  through  loftiest  mood — Jehovah,  King 
Of  kings,  Immanuel,  Prince  o£  Peace, 
Eternal  One  who  sits  in  majesty 
Upon  earth's  circle,  while  the  nations  count 
But  as  the  small  dust  in  the  balances. 

And  tender  household-names,  that  link  the  life 
Of  every  day's  most  common  need,  to  life 
Beside  the  Throne — our  Father  pitiful, 
Our  elder  Brother,  and  the  Friend  most  near. 

And  sweetest  names  of  love,  that  fill  the  soul 
In  hours  of  holiest  fellowship  with  Him — 


HIS  NAME.  33 

Beloved,  altogether  Lovely,  Chief 

Among  ten  thousand,  Sharon's  wondrous  R  ose, 

And  that  best,  crowning  name — our   Jesus — 

name 

That  like  a  perfect  chord,  holds  every  name 
And  tone  of  love,  complete  withia  itsclfl 

Ah,  yes — most  precious  names — I  count 
Them  o'er  and  o'er,  as  miser  doth  his  hoard 
Of  costliest  gems,  and  yet,  when  all  is  done, 
I  turn  again  to  dead  Bettina's  deep 
And  soulful  words,  and  say  in  tenderest  hush, 
On  bended  knee,  "  Names  name  thee  not !  " 


ASLEEP. 

WITH  curls  in  golden  clusters, 
And  soft,  half-opened  eyes, 
The  baby  lay  as  one  entranced 
By  some  divine  surprise, 

While  fragrant  breathed  about  her, 
Sweet,  white,  half-opened  buds — 

The  hands  rose-clasped,  the  little  robe 
Bound  with  the  snowy  studs. 

;  O  blessed  sleep  of  childhood, 

So  far  from  eyes  of  mine," 
One  said.  "  Would  God  such  slumber 

Might  crown  my  head  as  thine  !  " 

But  lo  !  as  we  drew  nearer, 

Deep  wonder  caught  the  breath — 

The  couch  was  a  burial-casket, 

And  the  sleep  was  the  sleep  of  death  ! 

(34) 


ASLEEP.  35 

And  still  one  said,  "  Blest  childhood  ! 

Thrice-hallowed,  happy  sleep  ! 
O  wondrous  consummation, 

For  which  I  wait  and  weep  ! " 

There  fell  a  voice  in  answer  : 

"  The  baby  sleeps,  indeed  ; 
'  Yet  wrought  its  baby-mission, 

Fulfilling  all  its  need. 

'  So'thou,  dear  heart,  be  patient, 
Give  Christ  thy  griefs  to  keep, 
And  learn  that  so,  He  giveth 
To  His  beloved,  sleep  ! " 


IN    VISION. 

ANNUNCIATION. 

AN  angel  stood  at  night  within  the  door, 
Light  from  the  inner  glory  on  his  face  : 
"  A  message  from  the  King,"  he  said,  "  for  thou 
Art  called  and  chosen,  with  the  hosts  to  march, 
That  follow  him  to  victory  or  to  death. 
Behold  the  shield  of  promise  He  hath  sent : 
'  They  shall  have  great  reward  who  follow  me  ; 
Right  royally  shall  they  be  robed  and  crowned, 
Nor  shall  they  be  without  a  wondrous  sign 
Whereby  shall  all  men   know  that  they  are 

mine.' 

Thus  art  thou  chosen  with  His  hosts  to  march. 
Arise  and  follow  where  His  banner  leads." 

RENUNCIATION. 

Then  straight  responsive  to  the  heavenly  call, 
My  soul  made  answer  in  its  fervent  joy  : 
"  I  lay  all  down  before  this  glorious  King- 
All  life's  dear  sanctities  and  sweetest  hopes, 
(36) 


I IV   VISION,  37 

All  mind,  all  holy  places  of  the  heart ; 
And  in  that  heart,  whatever  other  name 
Hath  reigned  supreme,  I  tear  the  leaf  out  here, 
And  leave  the  page  unsoiled  and  blank  for  Him. 
I  keep  not  back  one  thing,  nor  hold  one  power 
Mine  own.     Henceforth  I  march  by  day  and 

night, 

Close  in  the  footsteps  of  this  conquering  King, 
Nor  turn  aside  for  any  joy,  save  that 
He  giveth  me." 

FULFILLMENT. 

The  King's  great  army  marcheth  ever  on. 

For  me — my  strength  is  well-nigh  spent  ; 
though  through 

Long  days  and  nights  of  heat  and  cold  I  went, 

Though  close  I  held  that  glorious  promise- 
shield, 

And  wondered  why  fulfillment  never  came. 

And  now,  I  lie  alone— the  troops  pass  by, 

The  King  himself  hath  deigned  no  look,  no 
word ; 

What  have  I  now,  of  all  He  promised  me  ? 

The  royal  robe  is  garment  rough,  of  pain, 


3  8  IN  VISION. 

The  wondrous  sign  is  but  a  blood-stained-cross, 
The  crown  He  gave,  was  but  a  crown  of  thorns, 
And  thus  I  die  alone,  without  my  King. 
My  King  !     Ah,  there  is  where  the  cruel  pain 
Hurts  most,  for  Him  I  love  beyond  compare, 
And  for  one  smile  from  that  majestic  face, 
I'd  count  all  loss  but  gain,  and  march  once 

more 
Through  all  these  days  and  nights  of  heat  and 

cold 

Content  to  die  at  last  of  but  one  kiss 
From  that  most  perfect  mouth  upon  my  lips. 

Ah,  what  is  this  ?     Those  tender  lips  touch 

mine  ! 

My  heart,  of  rapture  dies,  beneath  that  smile  ! 
Content,  content,  my  whole  reward  is  won  ! 

AT   LAST. 

"  At  last,"  you  say  ?    Ah,  no,  not  last— 'tis  first, 
'Tis  but  beginning— this  glad  triumphant  life 
On  the  celestial  hills  !  what  time  my  soul 
Went  up  from  earth,  with  that  divinest  kiss 
Close  folded  on  my  lips,  that  wondrous  smile 


IN   VISION,  39 

Far-reaching  to  my  inmost  heart  of  love, 
The  angel  stood  again  with  message  sweet — 
"The  King  hath  said   thy  name   before   the 

throne, 

Now  is  the  promise  near  and  sure  reward, 
Now  take  thy  robe,  thy  crown,  thy  holy  sign." 
At  last?     Ah,  no  ;  but  first  and  evermore 
I  wear  this  fair  white  linen  of  the  saints, 
His  name  upon  my  forehead  for  a  sign, 
My  crown  a  royal  diadem  of  stars  ! 
Yet  here  as  there,  I  give  my  all  to  Him, 
My  King,  and  in  renunciation  glad, 
I  cast  my  crown,  my  soul,  at  His  dear  feet ! 


OUT    OF    THE    SHADOW. 

ALL  through  the  day,  the  heavy  tumult 
stirred, 
And  noises  loud   and    angry    round  me 

rolled  ; 
A  lingering  thunder,  muttering  wrath  and 

pain, 

Seemed  all  the  happy  heights  in  night  to 
fold. 

Strive  as  I  might,  the  hills  of  faith  and  hope 
Grew  darker,  higher,  harder  still  to  climb  ; 

Eternity's  far  outlook  and  unfathomed  deeps, 
Seemed  bounded  by  the  littleness  of  Time. 

Then  close  around  me,  Doubt,  his  blackness 

drew, 
While  strong  Apollyon    threw    his    fiery 

darts — 

Alas,  where  was  my  armor,  strong  and  true, 
That    he   could   reach   my  very  heart   ot 
hearts  ! 
(40) 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW.  4I 

With   poison  tongue  was    every  arrow  tip 
ped — 

"  He  saith  "  —  "  He  saith  "  —  "  but  oh,  He 

doeth  not," 

"  He  will  not  give  good   gifts,  as   He   hath 
said  " — 

"  His  promised   mercy  He  hath  clean   for 
got." 

"  No  mother  would  say  '  nay '  to  any  child 

Who  lifted  up  such  longing,  pleading  cry, 
And  yet — He  is  more  ready,  doth  He  say  ? 
Ah,  no — no  mother  would,  like  Him,  deny." 

Thus  rained  the  fiery  storm  upon  my  soul, 
Each  dart  a  blinding  lance  through  Doubt's 

black  night, 
Till  stricken,  bruised,  and  wounded  nigh  to 

death, 
I  yielded  in  despair  th'  unequal  fight. 

Then   in  Despair's  yet  blacker  night  than 

Doubt's, 
Left  there  for  dead  by  Doubt  and  Hell's 

ally, 


42  OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW. 

He  whom  I  had  reviled  came  unto  me, 
With  loving  touch  His  healing1  to  apply. 

« 

But  there  Despair  and  Shame   'twixt   Him 

and  me, 

Joined  hands  to  keep  from  me  that  sweet 
est  balm, 
Yet  o'er  their  height  looked  down  His  tender 

eyes, 

And  held    me  with  their  deep,  divinest 
calm. 

So  once  those  eyes  had  turned  in  priestly  hall, 
Past  all  the  mocking  throng  to  one  alone  ; 

So  broke  my  heart  with  love's  sweet  sad  re 
proach, 
So  folded  He  again  His  strayed— His  own  ! 


"FAULTLESS." 

Jude,  ver.  24. 

<  TpAULTLESS  in  His  glory's  presence  !  " 
-*-        All  the  soul  within  me  stirred, 
All  my  heart  reached  up  to  heaven 
At  the  wonder  of  that  word. 

:  Able  to  present  me  faultless  ? 

Lord,  forgive  my  doubt,"  I  cried ; 
Thou  didst  once,  to  loving  doubt,  show 
Hands  and  feet  and  riven  side. 

Oh,  for  me,  build  up  some  ladder, 
Bright  with  golden  round  on  round, 

That  my  hope  this  word  may  compass, 
Reaching  Faith's  high  vantage-ground  !  " 

Praying  thus,  behold,  my  ladder, 

Reaching  unto  perfect  day, 
Grew  from  out  a  simple  story 

Dropped  by  some  one  in  the  way. 
(43) 


44  "FAULTLESS." 

Once  a  queen — so  ran  the  story — 
Seeking  far  for  something  new, 
•Found  it  in  a  mill,  where,  strangely, 
Naught  but  rags  repaid  her  view. 

Rags  from  out  the  very  gutters, 

Rags  of  every  shape  and  hue, 
While  the  squalid  children,  picking, 

Seemed  but  rags  from  hair  to  shoe. 

"  What  then,"  rang  her  eager  question, 

"  Can  you  do  with  things  so  vile? " 

"  Mould  them  into  perfect  whiteness," 

Said  the  master  with  a  smile. 

"  Whiteness  ?  "  quoth  the  queen,  half-doubting; 
"  But  these  reddest,  crimson  dyes— 
Surely  naught  can  ever  whiten 
These  to  fitness  in  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "though  these  are  colors 

Hardest  to  remove  of  all, 
Still  I  have  the  power  to  make  them 
Like  the  snowflake  in  its  tall." 


"FAULTLESS."  45 

Through  my  heart  the  words  so  simple 

Throbbed  with  echo  in  and  out ; 
Crimson"  —  "scarlet"  —  "white  as    snow- 
flake  "— 
Can  this  man  ?  and  can  God  not  ? 

Now  upon  a  day  thereafter, 

(Thus  the  tale  went  on  at  will,) 

To  the  queen  there  came  a  present 
From  the  master  at  the  mill. 

Fold  on  fold  of  fairest  texture, 

Lay  the  paper,  purest  white  ; 
On  each  sheet  there  gleamed  the  letters 

Of  her  name  in  golden  light. 

Precious  lesson,"  wrote  the  master, 
"  Hath  my  mill  thus  given  me, 
Showing  how  our  Christ  can  gather 
Vilest  hearts  from  land  or  sea ; 

In  some  heavenly  alembic, 

Snowy  white  from  crimson  bring, 

Stamp  his  name  on  each,  and  bear  them 
To. the  palace  of  the  King." 


46  "FAULTLESS." 

Oh,  what  wondrous  vision  wrapped  me  ! 

Heaven's  gates  seemed  open  wide, 
Even  /  stood  clear  and  faultless, 

Close  beneath  the  pierced  side. 

Faultless  in  His  glory's  presence  ! 

Faultless  in  that  dazzling  light  ! 
Christ's  own  love,  majestic,  tender, 

Made  my  crimson  snowy  white  ! 


IN  THE  NIGHT. 

I. 

~T~    OW  in  the  darkness,  bleeding  and  crushed, 
I— f    I  lie  in  Thy  sovereign  hand  ; 
Almost  my  very  heart's  beating  is  hushed, 
Waiting  Thy  dreadful  command. 

Shall  it  be  life  ?     Oh,  can  it  be  death  ? 

Trembling  in  anguish,  I  pray, 
Take,  O  my  God,  whatsoever  Thou  wilt, 

But  take  not  this  one  life  away. 

Now,  as  of  old,  let  the  shadow  go  back 

On  its  beautiful  dial  to-night ; 
Shut  Thou  the  portals,  that  swinging  so  wide, 

Would  sweep  it  away  from  my  sight. 

Surely,  dear  Lord,  it  is  nothing  to  Thee — 
This  one  human  life  Thou  canst  spare ; 

And  it  is  so  much,  so  much  unto  me — 
O  give  me  my  passionate  prayer  ! 
(47) 


48  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

Slowly — ah,  Heaven  !  the  gates  seem  to  move ; 

Now  hither,  now  thither  they  sway  ; 
Watching,  and  fearing,  and  weeping,  I  lie, 

Too  sick  with  my  anguish  to  pray. 

Father,  my  Father,  forgive  my  wild  cry — 

I  know  not  what  I  have  said  ! 
The  portals  stand  wide,  in  the  terrible  night, 

And  I  am  alone  with  my  dead  ! 

II. 

Ah,  wonderful !  wonderful !  Here  in  the  night 
One  giveth  me  songs  for  my  tears — 

One  saith,  "/am  here  in  the  valley  with  thee  ; 
/carry  thy  griefs  and  thy  fears." 

Ah,   wonderful !    wonderful !       Here   on    His 
breast, 

Like  John,  the  beloved,  I  lie — 
My  passionate  prayer  sinks  sobbing,  to  rest — 

'Tis  Jesus,  to  live  or  to  die. 

Thy  sweet  human  life  is  over — 'tis  well — 
It  was  Jesus  for  thee  and  for  me  ! 

I  linger  below,  and  still  it  is  well, 
It  is  Jesus  for  me  and  for  thee  ! 


A   MEMORY. 

E  same  old  house,"  you  call  it ; 
~L      And  it's  fifteen  years,  you  say, 
Since  you  stepped  across  its  threshold — 
So  long  you  have  been  away. 

But  those  years  are  such  a  gulf,  dear ; 

And  a  house,  like  a  face,  may  change ; 
If  you  look  at  this  intently, 

It  will  seem  half-new  and  strange. 

The  oriel-window  is  darkened, 

The  sunny  side-porch  is  still, 
And  you  miss  the  old-time  laughter 

That  once  rung  over  the  hill. 

Ah,  now  you  ask  for  the  voices, 

Recalling  them  name  by  name  ; 
"  Where  then,"  you  say,  "  is  Gr^at-Heart  Phil  ? 
And  is  scapegrace  Ned  the  same  ? 

(49) 


50  A  MEMORY. 

'<  And  fair,  sweet,  serious  Helen, 

Queen  Alice,  and  loving  May  ? 
Why,  baby  Maud  is  a  woman  grown, 
I  suppose,  since  I  went  away  ?  " 

Ah,  me,  I  will  tell  you  the  story ; 

It  seems  so  long  ago 
That  all  this  bright  tide  vanished 

Out  of  life's  ebb  and  flow. 

And  the  house  has  stood  in  its  silence 

So  long,  apart  from  the  strife, 
Like  a  dim,  sweet  sanctuary, 

Full  of  an  unseen  life. 

It  was  only  the  year  that  you  left  us, 
Queen  Alice  forsook  her  throne; 

Though  she  reigned  in  so  many  loving  hearts, 
She  must  go  at  last  alone. 

Then  Great-Heart  Phil— did  you  never  hear 

Of  the  cruel  watery  strife  ? 
He  saved  his  friend,  but  the  icy  waves 

Closed  over  his  own  brave  life. 


A    MEMORY.  ijr 

Then  sweet-eyed,  thoughtful  Helen, 
Who  had  leaned  on  the  manly  strength, 

Though  she  tried  to  live  for  the  others, 
Drooped  and  yielded  at  length. 

So  half  the  voices  had  vanished, 
And  dear,  wild,  thoughtless  Ned 

Grew  silent,  and  played,  in  a  tender  way, 
With  Maud's  little  golden  head. 

But  the  bright  little  head  grew  weary, 
The  sweet  voice  pleaded  for  rest, 

And  the  Shepherd,  hearing  His  lamb's  low 

cry, 
Close  folded  her  to  His  breast. 

Then  Ned  grew  bitter  "at  Fate,"  he  said, 
And  was  reckless  and  wild  again, 

Though  the   sweet,   old  generous  impulses 

lived 
Under  all  the  terrible  strain. 

And  at  last  the  glorious  morning 

Rose  radiant  out  of  the  night, 
And  the  willful,  loving,  penitent  child 

Passed  up  into  God's  own  light. 


52  A    MEMORY. 

. "  So  sad  a  tale,"  you  say  ;  you  are  "  sure 

That  dear  little  May  still  lives." 
Alas,  but  no  !  she  sleeps  the  sleep 
That  God  to  His  loved  ones  gives. 

"  And  what,"  you  ask,  "  of  the  mother,      . 

So  smitten  with  blow  on  blow  ?  " 
But  I  told  you  the  house  was  a  temple, 
And  the  temple  all  aglow. 

For  a  house,  through  such  solemn  chrism, 

Grows  either  a  temple  or  grave  ; 
And  through  anguish  this  mother  whispered : 
"  He  perfects  the  gifts  that  He  gave ; 

"And  shall  I  be  hard  and  rebellious 

While  they  in  the  God-light  shine  ? 
O,  Father,  my  Father,  I  thank  Thee 
That  they  are  both  mine  and  Thine. 

"  And  what  now  to  Thee  shall  I  render, 
For  these  treasures  laid-up"  she  cried  ; 

"  Tenfold  I  will  strive  to  bring  with  me 
When  I  come  at  the  eventide. 


A    MEMORY.  53 

Ten  priceless  souls  I  will  bring  Thee 
For  my  first-born's  harvest  home  ; 

And — ten  ?  twice  ten,  for  the  precious  child 
Who  never  again  can  roam. 

And  five  and  three  I  will  bring  thee, 

And  two  and  one,  I  will  say, 
For  my  darlings,  Helen  and  Alice, 

For  baby  Maud  and  my  May. 

No  hour  for  grief  and  repining, 
But  each  grateful  hour  for  Thee. 

To  repay  Thee  ?     Ah,  never,  my  Father, 
It  is  only  Love's  prompting  in  me." 

And  so  it  is  that  at  day-dawn, 

The  loving  service  begins, 
And  she  sees  her  Philip,  her  Helen, 

In  each  dear  soul  that  she  wins. 

And  if,  perchance,  in  the  noontide, 

Some  prodigal  prays  at  last, 
'Tis  her  wayward  Ned  that  she  kisses, 

As  she  did  in  the  happy  past. 


4  A    MEMORY. 

And  then  in  the  shadowy  twilight 

She  returns  in  rapture,  to  feel 
That  the  temple  is  palpitant,  glowing, 

As  her  darlings  the  silence  unseal. 

What  wonder  her  face  has  caught  something 
Of  the  gladness  and  glory  to  come, 

And  "  grows  only  more  rapt  and  joyful " 
With  each  step  nearer  her  home  ? 

Yes,  I  know  it  seems  strange  to  be  grateful 
For  sorrow,  and  loss  upon  loss  ; 

Yet  'tis  true  of  your  friend,  as  I  tell  you, 
That  she  makes  such  Crown  of  her  Cross. 

No  longer  the  same,"  you  are  saying— 
Ah,  no— you  look  through  my  eyes ; 

You  can  see  now  the  house  is  a  temple 
Whose  spire  is  lost  in  the  skies. 


ALONE. 

ALONE  in  the  room  ! 
Oh,  darkest  mystery, 
Earth's  bitter  history, 
Reads  like  a  doom. 

Alone  in  the  room  ! 
Missing  the  loving  grace, 
Wanting  the  precious  face 

Lost  in  the  gloom. 

Alone  in  the  room  ! 

Drinking  death's  bitterness ; 

Cries  of  our  sore  distress 
Piercing  the  tomb. 

Alone  in  the  room  ! 

Oh,  when  will  night  be  done  ? 

Oh,  Darling,  Darling,  come 
Back  to  the  room. 

(55) 


56  ALONE. 

Alone  in  the  room  ? 

Oh,  sweetest  mystery  ! 

Earth's  hidden  history, 
Christ's  in  the  room. 

Alone  in  the  room  ? 

Cannot  His  perfect  grace, 
His  tender  pitying  face, 

Lighten  the  gloom  ? 

Oh,  He's  in  the  room  ! 

Death's  bitter  pang  is  past  ; 

Victors  we  are  at  last, 
Rending  the  tomb. 

Alone  nevermore  ! 

Morning  comes  soon  or  late 
Oh,  Darling,  Darling,  wait 

Close  by  the  shore. 


PARTING. 

WHAT   shall    I    say   to   thee,   sweetest, 
kneeling-  beside  thee  in  tears  ? 
Knowing  that  here  ends  the  measure  of  all  thy 

beautiful  years  ; 
Feeling  the  death-seal  of  silence,  between  us 

henceforth  from  this  day, 

Which,  of  all  lovingest  things  that  my  heart 
for  thee  holds,  shall  I  say  ? 

Can  I  beg  thee  for  dear  words  of  parting,  with 

eager  and  passionate  breath  ? 
Or  lament  thy  so  instant  transition  from  life  to 

this  marble  of  death  ? 
And  if  I  named  all  thou  art  leaving,  should  it 

be  indeed  matter  of  grief, 
That  thou  leavest  the  sowing  for  reaping — the 

seed  for  the  full-ripened  sheaf? 
(57) 


58  PARTING. 

But  what  hast  thou  left,  then,  dear  sleeper,  of 
all  that  the  soul  counteth  worth  ; 

Opening"  thine  eyes  upon  Heaven,  as  they 
closed  on  the  gladness  of  earth  ? 

Thou  art  gone  from  this  flower-crowned  bright 
ness,  to  God's  glowing  garden  above  ; 

Gone  from  our  poor,  anxious  loving,  to  infinite 
riches  of  love. 

No  shadow  of  death  on  thy  pathway,  no  river 
in  struggle  to  cross  ; 

No  anguish  or  trial  of  parting,  no  moment  to 
picture  a  loss  ; 

But  in  one  happy  instant,  the  angel  who  carries 
the  golden  key, 

Hath  unlocked  the  wonderful  portals,  and  open 
ed  all  Heaven  to  thee  ! 

O  mystic,   unspeakable  glory !    I    linger  and 

listen  outside, 
Though  I  catch  but  in  echo  the  faintest,  the 

joy  of  the  on-swelling  tide  ; 
But  I  know  thou  art  there  with  the  harpers,  on 

the  banks  of  the  crystal  sea, 
And  knowing  such  things,  beloved,  I  can  say 

but  one  thing  to  thee. 


PARTING.  59 

See,  I  place  in  thy  hand  these  lilies,  like  those 

that  the  angel  brought 
For  the  day  of  annunciation,  and  I  have  but 

this  one  glad  thought ; 
Pressing  my  kisses  down  on  thy  death-sweet 

face,  I  say 
From  my  heart  of  hearts,  my  darling,  I  give 

thee  joy  this  day  ! 


SUNSET. 

AT   EIGHTY-SIX. 

A    FAR  from  thee,  dear  friend,  to-day, 
-£-*-     I  dwell  with  loving  thought 
On  all  the  story  of  thy  life, 

With  joys  and  griefs  inwrought. 

I  think  of  all  the  weary  way 
Thy  pilgrim  feet  have  trod — 

Of  "years  gone  down  into  the  past," 
Whose  record  is  with  God. 

Of  all  thy  tender,  patient  trust, 

Of  all  thy  calm,  sweet  faith, 
Which  never  asked  for  better  oath 

Than  just  His  own  "  He  saith." 

Which  walked  alike  in  light  or  dark, 

While  Jesus  walked  beside, 
And  took  the  joys  God  offered  here, 

Nor  craved  the  joy  denied. 
(60) 


SUNSET.  6 1 

So  simply  walking,  with'thy  hand 

Close  clasped  in  His  each  day, 
Most  faithfully  His  covenant 

He  kept  with  thee  alway. 

In  joy's  bright  day,  He  saved  thee  from 

The  tempter's  subtle  power  ; 
In  sorrow's  night,  He  hid  thee  deep 

Within  His  refuge-tower. 

The  many  thorns  thy  feet  have  pressed, 

His  own  had  pressed  before  ; 
Thy  sad  temptations  too  He  knew, 

In  many  a  conflict  sore. 

And  oft,  when  these  were  overcome, 

And  Hope  might  sing  again, 
He  brought  thee  to  some  mountain's  height 

O'erlooking  all  the  plain  ; 

Whence,  glancing  clown,  thou  saw'st  with  joy 

The  fearful  path  escaped, 
And  glancing  up,  didst  catch  a  glimpse 

Of  Eden's  distant  gate. 


6  2  SUXSET. 

And  so,  through  all  the  years  thou'rt  come, 

Up  to  this  peaceful  shore, 
Where  "  only  waiting  "  thou  dost  stand, 

Till  Jesus  go  before. 

Thy  pilgrim  staff  is  bent  and  old, 

Thy  sandals  poor  and  worn, 
Thy  garments  gray  and  travel-stained, 

Thy  red-cross  banner  torn. 

Yet  patient  wait— thy  pilgrim  staff 

A  waving  palm  shall  be  ; 
Thy  sandals  gold,  thy  garments  white, 

Thy  banner  victory. 

The  bridgeless  river  just  beyond, 

The  pilgrim  way  behind, 
So  rest  in  Beulah's  pleasant  land, 

With  glad,  untroubled  mind. 

For  far  across  the  gloomy  wave 

Doth  heavenly  music  ring  ; 
And  gleaming  Eden-lights  reveal 

The  City  of  our  King. 


SUNSET.  63 

And,  as  in  evening's  sunset-glow 

An  angel  seems  to  stand, 
And  holding  wide  the  pearly  gate, 

With  glory  floods  the  land  : 

So,  in  Ihy  life's  sweet  sunset  hour 

I  seem  to  see  thee  wait, 
Touched  with  the  glory  streaming  through 

The  softly-opened  gate. 

So  rest  thee  here,  dear  pilgrim,  till 

The  splendor  brighter  falls, 
And  thou  shalt  be  at  home  within 

The  City's  golden  walls. 


AT   THE    RIVER. 

HERE,  at  the  River,  we  meet  then  at  last, 
And  the  meeting  is  gladness  and  pain  ; 
For  'tis  only  this  hour,  here  on  the  shore, 
The  next  we  are  parted  again. 

But  the  sad,  sad  years  are  over,  thank  God, 
And  the  parting  cannot  be  long ; 

It  is  this  that  hushes  my  beating  heart, 
As  the  waves  roll  up  so  strong. 

It  is  just  the  very  old  story,  Paul, 

Of  Israel,  after  the  sea — 
These  sorrowful  years  of  our  wandering, 

That  have  chastened  you  and  me. 

Our  promised  land  was  almost  in  sight, 
The  journey  was  smooth  and  brief, 

Yet  we  turned  the  way  of  the  wilderness, 
Though  both  hearts  broke  with  their  grief. 
(64) 


A  T  THE  RIVER.  65 

And  now,  we  are  linking  that  hour  with  this, 

And  all  that  has  gone  between 
Is  like  a  long,  long  loop  that  is  made 

In  the  winding  of  a  stream. 

What  was,  and  what  might  be,  were  once  so 
close, 

That  a  step  had  joined  them  then  ; 
But  we  each  stood  out,  across  the  strait, 

Till  the  wilderness  began. 

Ah,  well,  the  time  is  long  ago, 

And  the  dear  Lord  cares  for  all ; 
Though  bearing  the  scales  to  weigh  His  worlds, 

He  follows  the  sparrow's  fall. 

And  so,  though  we  walked  in  the  wilderness, 

An  angel  walked  with  us  there ; 
Our  raiment  upon  us  waxed  not  old, 

And  a  gift  ever  answered  a  prayer. 

Ever  into  His  sovereign,  loving  will, 

Converged  our  crookedest  lines, 
And  the  pillar  of  cloud,  and  the  pillar  of  fire, 

Were  equally  guiding  signs. 


66  AT  THE  RIVER. 

And  though  we  journeyed  so  widely  apart, 
With  either,  by  day  or  by  night, 

The  Covenant  Angel  dwelt  in  them  both, 
And  both  led  up  to  the  light. 

And  this  sad,  sweet  hour,  here  on  the  shore, 
Is  our  Lord's  last,  precious  gift ; 

But  our  hands  unclasp,  and  the  angel  waits, 
And  the  current  is  strong  and  swift. 

And  so  I  kiss  you  good-night,  dear  Paul, 
Here,  at  the  River,  good-night. 

The  hours  grow  brief — we  shall  meet  again, 
In  the  morning's  abiding  light. 


"AND  THERE  WAS  LIGHT." 

"  T~    ET  in  the  morning,"  the  dear  voice  be- 

-' — *         sought, 

When  the  last  sad  morning  broke  ; 
For  with  night  in  our  hearts  we  had  shut  it 
out 

Till  his  eyes  beseeching  spoke. 

"  God's  beautiful  morning,  let  it  in — 

Let  in  each  blessed  ray ; 
My  soul  cannot  bear  the  darkness  now. 
So  near  to  the  endless  day. 

"  Sweet  glimpses  I've  had  of  the  other  shore, 

That  made  earth's  sunshine  dim  ; 
How  heavy  must  be  earth's  darkness  then— 
Oh,  let  the  morning  in. 

"  'Tis  God's  fair  herald  to  open  the  gates 

Of  the  glad  eternal  day, 
With  its  flaming  torch  flung  out  on  high 

To  show  my  feet  the  way. 

(67) 


68        "AND  THERE   WAS  LIGHT." 

"  And  I  love  the  flowers  that  softly  breathe 

Their  voiceless  praise  to  Him, 
And  all  bright,  blessed  things  that  live — 
Oh,  let  the  morning  in." 

And  the  sun  poured  in  his  beautiful  light, 
And  the  flowers  their  burden  rare, 

And  the  careless  birds  went  singing  by 
In  the  tender  April  air. 

But  lo  !  a  light  from  no  earthly  orb, 

Lay  pure  on  the  brow  within, 
And  before  the  world's  fair  day  had  died, 

God  let  His  morning  in. 

Through  the  crystal  gate  of  the  jeweled  court 
Where  the  heavenly  morning  reigns, 

From  the  Fountain  of  Light  the  golden  flood 
Burst  o'er  the  glowing  plains. 

And  over  the  Temple's  flashing  door, 

In  radiant  lines  of  light, 

Was  the  King's  sweet  pledge  to  His  ransomed 
ones  : 

"There  shall  be  no  more  night." 


DE    PROFUNDIS. 

UT  of  the  depths,  O  God,  out  otivkat 
depths,"  9 

A  mourner  saith  ; 
Even  out  of  the  awful  shadows 

Of  the  mystery  of  death  ! 

Back  from  its  dark  and  sternly-guarded  gate, 

I  come  alone, 
And  in  the  dust  in  utterest  need  and  grief, 

I  make  my  moan. 

All  life's  sweet  roses,  rich  in  fragrant  bloom, 

Lie  heaped  around ; 
I  heed  them  not ;  the  only  flower  I  loved, 

In  death  is  bound. 

Father,  I  cannot  look  into  the  face 

Of  thy  glad  morn  ; 
O  take  from  out  my  bleeding  heart 

This  sharp,  sharp  thorn." 

(69) 


70  DE  PROFUXDIS. 

"  Into  the  depths,  oh,  child,  into  wJiat  depths," 

A  sweet  Voice  saith, 
"  Even  into  more  awful  shadows  than 

The  mystery  of  Death. 

"  Into  such  depths,  for  purest  love  of  thee 

I  went  alone ; 

Despised,  condemned,  forsaken,  none  were  left 
To  heed  my  moan. 

"  All  fragrance  fills  thy  path — alas  !  in  mine 

No  flower  was  found  ; 

Thou  hast  one  thorn — with  plaited  wreath  of 
thorns 

Thy  Lord  was  crowned. 

"  For  tenderest  love  of  thee,  my  stricken  child, 

I  bore  the  smart 

And  all  that  fearful  agony  that  broke4 
My  weary  heart. 

"  And  can  it  be,  this  dying  love  for  thee 

Was  all  in  vain  ? 

With  murmur  and  reproach,  wilt  crucify 
Thy  Lord  again  ? 


DE  PROFUNDIS.  71 

"  My  child,  my  child,  I  thought  thy  Saviour  had 

That  heart  of  thine. 

Behold,  I  plead  with  thee — how  can  I  give 
thee  up  ? 

Art  thou  not  mine  ? 

"  Is  not  my  death  for  thee,  sufficient  pledge 

That  every  pain, 

And  every  loss  I  send  thee,  is  to  bring 
Some  greater  gain  ? 

"  Oh,  trust  thy  risen  Lord,  and  now  return 

Unto  thy  rest ; 

Go,  press  life's  fragrant  flowers,  thy  Father's 
gifts, 

Unto  thy  breast. 


"  On  some  bright  hill,  in  some  revealing  hour, 

Of  Heaven's  glad  morn, 
Thy  heart  shall  know  the  meaning  deep  and 
sweet, 

Of  this  one  thorn." 


72  DE  PROFUNDIS. 

"  Out  of  the  depths,  dear  Lord,  out  of  these 
depths," 

The  mourner  saith, 
"  I  cry,  Forgive,  forgive,  oh,  lead  me  still 

Even  unto  death. 

"  O  Heavenly  Pleader,  give  me  close  to  clasp 

Thy  pierced  right  hand ; 
Oh,  love  me  still,  and  still  work  out  in  me 
What  Thou  hast  planned. 

"  And  though  I  grieve  Thee  oft,  and  many  times 

Most  wayward  be, 

Thou  knowest  all  things,  dearest  Lord,  Thou 
knowest 

I  love  but  Thee." 


A    CHRISTMAS   MEMORY. 

IN  Rome's  old  Palace  of  the  Quirinal, 
Where  popes  are  made,  and  from  which 

popes  have  fled, 

We  walked  and  wondered,  half  one  sunny  day, 
All  shod  in  softest  wool,  lest  careless  step 
Should  mar  the  bright  mosaics  of  the  floor. 

Pendant  from  height  to  base,  rich  tapestries 
Made  pictures   on   the  walls,  while  mingled 

scenes 

Of  battle,  martyr,  Magdalen,  and  saint 
In  fresco,  all  the  ceilings  hid  with  art. 
Each  spreading  hall  and  chamber  showed  in 

turn 
Its  wealth  of  gathered  spoil,  from  sculptured 

frieze 

To  pavement  tesselar ;  from  costly  gem 
To  inlaid  cabinet,  and  tables  brought 
From  caves  of  malachite,  or  wrought  with  skill 
In  workshop  of  the  Florentine,  or  rich 
With  priceless  stones  antique,  of  varied  hue, 

(73) 


74  A  CHRISTMAS  MEMORY. 

While  rarest  flowering-forth  of  fair  ideal 
From  sculptor's  brain  in  marble  or  in  bronze, 
Decked  all  the  place,  each  one  a  poor  man's 
wealth. 

Thus  viewing  all,  we  questioned  much  of  what 
Christ's  grand  old  Galilean  Peter,  who 
For  Romans  holds  the  keys  of  heaven  and  hell, 
Would  once  have  thought  or  felt,  to  call  himself 
The  lord  of  all  this  regal  pomp,  or  find 
Himself  at  ease  within  these  storied  walls. 
We  pictured  him,  upon  that  royal  chair 
They  called  a  throne  —  then  smiled  at  such 

grotesque, 

Incongruous  fancy,  linked  with  him  who  kept 
His  humble  trade  of  fisherman  intact, 
And  drew  his  fisher's  net,  at  last,  to  shore 
With  priceless  souls,  its  burden,  for  his  Lord. 

At  last,  'mid  all  the  splendor  of  the  place, 
One  sweet  white  thought  came  like  a  snowy 

dove, 

And  nestling,  made  that  sunny  day  its  own. 
At  last  the  Christ  Himself  had  one  small  space 
Within  the  royal  home  of  His  self-styled 


A  CHRISTMA  S  MEMOR  Y.  75 

Vicegerent.     Looking  upward  where  we  stood, 
Not  great  except  in  thought,  nor  finely  wrought, 
Yet  filling  all  our  hearts  with  beautiful  intent, 
One  soft,  fair  fresco  crowned  the  stately  room. 


Down  from  Judean  hills,  and  far  across 
Arabia's  desert  sands,  from  Chebar's  banks, 
From   temple -porch,   from   Bethel's  prophet- 
school, 

And  forth  from  Babylon's  great  palace-gate, 
Captive  or  free,  the  grand  procession  came, 
"  The  goodly  fellowship  "  of  Israel's  seers, 
Sweeping  in  triumph-march  across  the  plain. 
First  he,  the  poet-prophet  with  his  harp 
Attuned  to  loftier  praise  and  nobler  psalm 
Than  e'er  of  old  had  lived  and  thrilled  through 

all 

The  choral  music  of  the  temple  rites  ; 
Then  that  rapt  seraph-heart,  which  beat  and 

burned 

Within  Isaiah's  bosom,  flamed  in  joy 
Into  the  heavenly  face  upturned  to  God, 
Fast  following  on  the  steps  of  Judah's  bard  ; 
Next  he  whose  sad  lament  o'er  Zion's  fall, 


7  6  A   CHRISTMAS  MEMORY. 

Once   swept   his  page   with   mournful  minor 

chord, 

Now  wept  for  joy,  at  gladder  prophecies 
Fulfilled ;    while   one,  who  wondrous  visions 

saw 

Upon  the  river's  banks  in  Chaldean  lands, 
Now  seemed  as  lifted  up  himself,  on  that 
Same  chariot  of  fire-enfolded  wheel 
With  flaming  eyes,  and  winged  cherubim, 
He  saw  from  out  the  whirlwind  as  it  passed  ; 
And  He  who  told  Belshazzar's  doom,  and  saw 
The  mighty  images  of  kingdoms  yet 
Unborn,  fall  crumbling  at  the  touch  of  that 
Great  stone,  from  out  the  mountain  cut,  he  too, 
With  all  the  gathering  throng  within  the  train 
Took  up  one  joyous  song  of  raptured  praise — 
"  To  us  a  Child  is  born,  a  Son  is  given — 
The  Wonderful,  the  Counsellor — behold 
Our  Prince  of  Peace" — and  as  we  gazed,  we 

seemed 

Again  to  hear  the  hallelujah  swell 
As  from  orchestral  harmonies,  poured  forth 
In  music  palpitant  —  "Thou  Wonderful  ! 
Thou   Counsellor !     Thou    mighty   Prince   of 
Peace  ! 


A   CHRIS  TMA  S  MEMOR  Y.  77 

The  King  of  kings,  the  Lord  of  lords  ! 
Forever  and  forever  Thou  shalt  reign  !  " 
And  listening  thus,  we  looked  again,  and  lo  ! 
A  little  Child  led  all  the  wondrous  host ! 

Then  went  we  forth  into  the  shining  day 
From  Rome's  old  palace  of  the  Quirinal. 
And  still  in  memory's  picture  of  that  hour, 
We  see  but  Bethlehem's  Child,  and  hear  again 
"  The  Hallelujah  Chorus,"  where  He  leads 
The  whole  grand  saintly  host  of  His  redeemed  ! 


REWARD . 

ALL  joyously  down  through  the  golden 
field 

The  reapers  had  come  with  a  shout ; 
They  had  cheered  each  other  with  word  and 

song, 
As  their  sickles  flashed  in  and  out. 

And  tenderly  now  fell  the  day  asleep, 

As  they  heard  the  Master  call 
Through  the  starlit  silence,  "  Enter  ye  in, 

My  reward  is  waiting  for  all." 

The  palace  shone  out  on  the  happy  night 

With  its  windows  all  aflame, 
Its  radiant  portals  swinging  wide, 

With  welcome  for  all  who  came. 

With  bannered  sheaves,  with  the  trumpet's 

voice, 

With  the  marching  of  eager  feet, 
The  train  swept  in  through  the  golden  gates, 
And  up  to  the  royal  seat. 
(78) 


RE  WARD.  79 

But  lo,  far  off  in  the  harvest-field, 

Weary  and  sad  and  so  late, 
With  a  single  sheaf,  there  lingered  one 

Still  striving  to  reach  the  gate. 

He  had  caught  the  echo  of  that  sweet  call 
That  fell  through  the  holy  night ; 

He  had  seen  the  throng  from  the  darkened 

field, 
Sweep  into  the  palace-light. 

And  a  cry  went  up  from  his  sorrowful  soul, 
"  O  Master,  tarry  for  me  ; 
Oh,  shut  not  the   gates  whence   the  glory 

streams, 
My  weary  heart  breaketh  for  thee." 

At  last  to  the  banqueting  hall  he  came, 

So  ragged,  and  old,  and  worn, 
His  only  treasure,  the  one  bright  sheaf, 

On  his  poor,  bent  shoulders  borne. 

Then  the  face  of  the  King  was  tender  and 
grave, 


go  REWARD. 

As  of  one  who  was  hiding  a  tear, 
As  he  gently  questioned,  "What  wouldest 

thou, 
And  what  dost  thou  bring  me  here  ?  " 

Most    eager  and    loving  the   answer    that 

came — 

"  I  had  gone  with  the  reapers  at  morn, 
With  longing  to  bring  thee  such  glorious 

sheaves 
As  might  even  thy  palace  adorn. 

"  But  scarcely  one  hour  I  wrought  with  the 

rest, 

Ere  I  fell  by  the  wayside  alone  ; 
With  a  fevered  brow  and  a  pain -racked 

frame 
I  lay  till  the  morning  was  done. 

"Sweet  children    passed  with    their    sickles 

small — 

They  would  reap  for  the  King,  they  said— 
I    showed   them  whither  the   reapers   had 

gone, 
And  blessed  them  as  on  they  sped. 


REWARD.  8 1 

"  But  when  in  the  noontide's  sultry  hour 

The  fever  and  pain  were  done, 
The  rust,  alas,  my  sickle  had  spoiled, 
And  the  strength  of  my  youth  was  gone. 

"  Far  off  I  could  see  the  victorious  ones 

With  the  flash  of  their  blades  so  keen  ; 
But  no  words  could  reach  them,  and  there 

alone, 
I  knew  I  could  only  glean. 

"  The  few  bright  stalks  they  had  left  in  their 

haste, 

I  gathered  in  weakness  for  thee  ; 
And  this  poor,   bare  entrance   within   thy 

gates 
Is  all  that  is  left  for  me." 

Then  the  King  rose  up  from   his  throned 

seat, 

With  a  face  most  sweet  to  see  ; 
"They  also  serve,  who  suffer,"  hs  said, 
"  Their  reward  is  still  with  me. 


82  RE  WARD. 

"  Thy  sh?af  may  be  small,  but  thy  love  was 

great— 

I  crown  thee  victor  with  this." 
And  lo,  in  the  silence,  bending,  he  pressed 
On  that  brow  his  signet-kiss. 

And  the  sorrowful  gleaner  stood  a  prince, 

Transformed  by  that  wondrous  sign  ; 
While  a  shout  rang  down  through  the  palace 

hall, 
"  O  Love,  the  guerdon  is  thine  !  " 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

OVER  the  cloud-wrapt  mountains, 
Over  the  river  and  plain, 

From  the  city's  heart,  with  its  tremulous  thrills, 
To  a  sunny  nest  on  the  western  hills, 
Greeting,  and  love,  and  acclaim. 

For  up  in  a  lofty  turret, 

— The  great  watch-tower  of  Time — 
The  century-bell  swings  to  and  fro, 
Striking  the  quarter  soft  and  low, 

With  a  ringing,  silvery  chime. 

"  Wedded  and  crowned,"  repeating  : 

"  Crowned  and  wedded  long  ;  " 
Ring  out  !   ring  out !  O  century-bell, 
Thou  hast  never  a  happier  tale  to  tell, 

With  thy  hundred  tongues  of  song. 
(85) 


86  EPITHALAMIUM. 

Ring  for  the  years  in  their  passage, 

Ring  for  the  day  that  has  come, 
When  the  waving  harvest  of  loving  deeds, 
And  of  service  given  to  Earth's  great  needs,  . 
Lies  gathered  in  heart  and  home. 

Swift-winged  Thought  flies  backward, 

Over  the  years  that  are  fled, 
And,  standing  far  down  the  aisle  of  Time, 
She  sees  the  completion  of  Love's  sweet  rhyme^ 

In  a  vision  of  two  who  are  wed. 

Bending  her  ear  to  listen, 

She  catches — just  begun — 
The  wondrous  strain  of  Life's  great  Psalm, 
As  heart  meets  heart  in  holiest  calm, 
Forevermore  made  one. 

Steadily  down  the  pathway 

She  follows  them  year  by  year, 
While  the  Winter's  glory,  the  Summer's  bliss, 
The  year's  sweet  Vesper  and  Spring's  dream- 
kiss, 
Glide  on  and  disappear. 


EPITHA  LA  MI  UM.  8  7 

Forward  through  storm  and  sunshine, 

Hasting  and  resting,  they  fare  ; 
While  the  shadows   sweep  on,  o'er  the  dial's 

plate, 

Life's  noon  is  past,  and  the  hour  grows  late, 
Or  ever  they  are  aware. 

But  Memory  smiles  at  the  treasure 

Garnered  within  her  grasp  ; 
The  golden  grain  from  the  tear-sown  seed, 
The  bursting  sheaf  for  the  up-torn  weed, 
Bound  with  the  King's  own  clasp. 

Wrestlings  and  victories  and  losses, 

Songs  in  the  night-time  of  grief, 
Glorious  gifts  from  the  vineyard's  Lord, 
Of  children's  voices  and  heart's  accord, 
And  the  peace  that  passeth  belief. 

Ring,  then,  O  bell !  from  thy  tower, 

Our  greeting  of  love  and  joy  ; 
Our  prayer  for  a  blessing  on  these  who  stand 
In  Love's  own  royalty,  sweet  and  grand, 
A  kingdom  without  alloy. 


88  EPITHALAMIUM. 

"  Wedded  and  crowned,"  repeating, 

So  ring  the  years  away, 
Till  another  quarter-bell  peals  out, 
With  glad  acclaim  and  triumph-shout, 

The  GOLDEN  Wedding-Day ! 


FLOWER-WALL. 

A  TRUE   INCIDENT. 

DARLING  little  girly, 
Wont  she  try  to  stand  ? 
Won't  she,  just  one  minute, 
Let  go  mamma's  hand  ? 

"  Just  the  tips  of  fingers  then — 
Now  !  now  at  and  alone  !  " 
Naught  could  tempt  the  fairy 
Into  feats  unknown. 

Out  here  in  the  garden, 

('Twas  the  midst  of  June) — 

Down  we  stood  the  baby 
In  this  bed  of  bloom. 

Right  amid  the  flowers, 

They  as  tall  as  she, 
Stood  the  child  delighted, 

Clapped  her  hands  in  glee. 
(89) 


go  FLO  WER-  IV A LLS. 

She  thought,  of  course,  the  flowers 
Were  like  mother's  hand — 

Strong  to  catch  and  hold  her, 
So  she  dared  to  stand. 

Sense  of  sure  protection 

Like  a' body-guard, 
Gave  the  flowers  bright  and  tall, 

Keeping  watch  and  ward. 

Ah,  sweet  little  maiden, 
Faith  is  such  a  power, 

Though  it  only  "  make  believe," 
Hold  thee  by  a  flower. 

And  I  thought,  like  baby, 

We  of  older  years 
Often  lean  on  flowery  walls, 

Letting  go  our  fears. 

Fears  that  sometimes  blind  us 
To  our  noblest  powers, 

Till  God  gently  sets  us  down 
In  some  bed  of  flowers. 


MY   PICTURE. 

FROM  the  mountains,  melt  the  mists, 
Darkness  veils  the  valleys  deep, 
Where  the  waveless  waters  wind, 
Hushed  in  sleep. 

Far  upon  the  holy  heights, 
Whence  the  melting  mists  have  rolled 
Throws  the  radiant  King  of  Light, 
Crowns  of  gold. 

On  the  lowly,  shadowed  shore, 
Old  and  quaint,  yet  queenly  proud, 
Stands  a  temple  in  the  midst 
Of  mist  and  cloud. 

Shadows  shroud  its  lonely  base, 
Darkness  dims  the  folded  door, — 
But  a  raised,  upreaching  hand 

Finds  "  Heaven's  blue  floor." 


9 2  MY  PICTURE. 

Ah  !  how  like  to  life  the  scene, — 
Mountains  high  and  valleys  deep, 
Where  proud  we  march,  or  sadly  move, 
And  smile  and  weep. 

Yet  when  lowliest  here  we  walk, 
Glad  we  find  our  temple-door — 
To  its  Maker,  there  within, 
Praise  we  pour. 

Fast  its  portal,  shrouded,  dim, 
Flows  the  River,  peaceful,  pure, 
Whose  sweet  waters  every  ill  and 
Woe  can  cure. 

Like  to  life  the  mountain  too, 
Mist  and  cloud,  around  its  base, 
On  its  top  is  shining  still 

The  Father's  face. 

So  my  picture  talks  to  me, 
Teaching  lessons  pure  and  sweet, 
Guiding  upward  to  the  Throne, 
My  wayward  feet. 


IN    THE     NAME     OF    OUR    GOD     WE 
WILL   SET   UP   OUR   BANNERS. 

"T~    IFT  up  on  the  mountains,  O  host  of  the 
J-J         Lord, 

With  voice  of  the  trumpet's  acclaim, 
Lift  up  on  the  mountains  our  banners  of  light, 
And  girded  with  strength,  march  on  to  the  fight 

In  our  Leader's  victorious  name. 

Bear  on  to  the  front  our  banner  of  Praise, 

In  imperial  purple  arrayed  ; 
For  "glory  to  God  in  the  highest"  shall  ring, 
As  the  army's  grand  choral  to  Jesus  our  King, 

Till  all  nations  His  own  shall  be  made. 

And  Faith's  banner,  pure  white,  unfurl  to  the 

breeze, 

For  she  marches  beside  us  at  night ; 
She  leads  through  the  desert  our  faltering  feet, 
And  sings  in  the  darkness,  her  litanies  sweet, 
Of  deliverance,  triumph,  and  sight. 
(93) 


94  IN  THE  NA  ME  OF  0  UR  GOD. 

Then  lift  up  the  radiant  banner  of  Hope, 

In  her  symbol-color  of  blue  ; 
For  clasping  Faith's  hand,  Hope  smiles  like  the 

light, 
And  with  beautiful  prophecies  follows  the  night, 

Like  sunrise  after  the  dew. 

And  Love  in  its  passionate  crimson,  the  Love 

That  is  greater  than  Hope  or  than  Faith ; 
The  glory  and  crown  of  the  army  below, 
The  holiest  strain  that  all  Heaven  can  know, 
The  grace  that  abideth  in  death. 

Then  lift  up  the  heart,  move  onward  with  song, 

Our  victory  now  draweth  nigh  ; 
Though  the  enemy's  legions  come  in  like  a  flood, 
Our  "  munitions  of  rocks"  for  ages  have  stood, 

And  God's  standards  are  floating  on  high. 


HYMN. 

WRITTEN     FOR     THE     MEETING     OF    THE    WOMAN'S     FOREIGN 
MISSIONARY   SOCIETY,    HELD   IN   BALTIMORE,    MAY  9,  1872. 

HE  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 
Once  more  before  we  part, 
Ring  out  the  joyful  watchword 

From  every  grateful  heart. 
The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 

Be  this  our  battle-cry, 
The  lifted  cross  our  oriflamme, 
A  sign  to  conquer  by ! 

The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 

From  out  the  Golden  Gate, 
Through  all  Pacific's  sunny  isles 

To  China's  princely  state  ; 
From  India's  vales  and  mountains, 

Through  Persia's  land  of  bloom, 
To  storied  Palestina 

And  Afric's  desert  gloom  ; 
(95) 


96  HYMN. 

The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus, 

Through  all  its  fragrant  zones  ! 
Ring  out  again  the  watchword 

In  loftiest,  gladdest  tones. 
The  whole  wide  world  for  Jesus  ! 

We'll  wing  the  song  with  prayer, 
And  link  the  prayer  with  labor, 

Till  Christ  his  crown  shall  wear. 


ONLY    FOR    ONE. 

rpHOUGHTS,  thoughts,  thoughts, 
J-    Like  the  restless  waves  of  the  sea, 
Wild  as  the  storm,  and  sad  as  my  song 
"  O  Love,  come  back  to  me  !  " 

Away  through  the  angry  tempest, 

Out  from  the  rest  of  home, 
Following,  following  evermore, 

Wherever  my  Love  doth  roam. 

For  the  gray  old  year  is  dying 

In  the  night  and  storm  and  gloom, 

And  I  sit  alone,  without  my  Love, 
In  this  dim,  forsaken  room, 

Where  strange  sounds  break  the  silence 

In  the  pauses  of  the  storm, 
And  the  fire  burns  low,  and  the  shadows  grow, 

And  only  my  heart  is  warm. 

(97) 


98  OXL  Y  FOX  0<VE. 

For  this  same  old  year  is  dying, 

To  that  other,  where'er  he  may  be — 

This  crowning  year  of  the  years  of  life, 
That  gave  my  Love  to  me. 

But  hark  !  I  hear  awaking, 

An  infant  year  in  its  glee — 
I  will  sing  it  a  song  that  will  make  it  smile, 

And  give  back  my  Love  to  me. 

New  year, 

Sweet  year, 
Glad  little  child, 

Heaven-gained, 

Unstained, 
Earth's  underiled. 

New  year, 

Regal  year, 
Mounting  to  thy  throne, 

Here  I  kneel, 

To  thee  appeal- 
Send  my  wand'rer  home. 


ONLY  FOR  ONE.  ^ 

New  year, 

Happy  year, 
Listen  to  my  plea, 

And  ere  the  day 

Groweth  gray 
Bring  my  Love  to  me. 

Oh,  the  year  in  majesty  smileth, 

Like  stars  shining  down  on  the  sea  ! 

Oh,  the  child-monarch  showeth  me  kingliest 

grace, 
He  bringeth  my  Love  to  me  ! 


MAYING. 

HERE'S  a  little  song,  my  darling-, 
Written  all  for  thee, 
Just  because  a  hsppy  mem'ry 
Comes  to-day  to  me  ; 

Just  because  a  soft,  sweet  picture 

Floats  before  my  eyes, 
Which  I  fain  would  paint  for  thee,  love, 

For  to-day's  surprise  ; 

Just  because  a  living  poem 

Rings  within  my  ears, 
Which  I  fain  would  set  to  music 

Perfect  as  our  years. 

This,  my  picture  and  my  poem, 

As  in  missal  old, 
Writ  in  rare  and  secret  letters, 

Dashed  with  brush  of  gold, 
(100) 


MA  YING.  1 01 

Here  it  glows  and  speaks  before  thee, 

Listen  now,  and  see 
If  the  glad  translation  answers 

To  the  text  for  thee  : 

Once  two  lovers  went  a-Maying, 

On  a  golden  day  ; 
All  the  future's  rosy  brightness 

Lit  the  sunny  way. 

Bird  and  tree  and  lake  and  mountain 

Offered  incense  up  ; 
Fair  May-blossoms  shook  their  perfume 

From  each  trembling  cup. 

Down  the  rocks  the  silvery  water 

Murmurously  fell, 
As  it  held  at  heart  some  secret, 

Happy  tale  to  tell. 

And  these  lovers,  with  their  loving, 

Glorified  each  thing — 
Each  took  on  some  wondrous  color, 

Painted  on  the  wing. 


102  MA  YING. 

Oh,  such  vows,  such  looks,  such  kisses  ! 

Every  bird  that  flew, 
Straightway  to  his  mate  repeated 

Every  word  he  knew. 

All  the  flowers  smiled  and  nodded— 
They  knew  what  it  meant ; 

With  their  lover's  ardent  glances 
Warmly  on  them  bent. 

E'en  the  monarchs  of  the  forest 
Stirred  from  winter's  dream, 

When  a  little  golden  circlet 
Somehow  flashed  between, 

Slipping  to  its  place,  was  sealed  there 

By  a  lover's  kiss  ! 
E'en  the  very  lake  broke,  dimpling, 

Into  mirth  at  this. 

Came  the  lovers  home  from  Maying — 

That  was  years  ago  ; 
Tell  me,  sweetest  lover  living, 

Went'st  thou  Mayings? 


MAYIXG.  103 

Oh,  that  time  of  dear  remembrance  ! 

Oh,  rare-tinted  day  ! 
Sweetheart,  come,  we'll  go  a-Maying, 

T.ike  that  other  May  ! 


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